


A Delicious Predicament (part 3)

by Mari Black (LochNessRaven)



Series: Torn Asunder [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arousal, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Foreplay, Gen, NSFW, Sex, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24287869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LochNessRaven/pseuds/Mari%20Black
Summary: Lavellan arrives in her quarters to an unexpected surprise ... and an unexpected visitor.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Female Lavellan
Series: Torn Asunder [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700971
Kudos: 9





	A Delicious Predicament (part 3)

**Author's Note:**

> _Torn Asunder _is an ongoing erotic fiction set in the world of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Behind the scenes of major events, Lavellan struggles with feelings of anxiety, overwhelming responsibility, and isolation as she adjusts to life in human society while trying to save the world from Corypheus. The newly-appointed Inquisitor steps up to the challenge, but balks at the idea of assuming the mantle of a fanatical, religious figurehead. She finally seeks escape from the pressures of leadership through the exploration of her sexuality, but quickly finds herself embroiled in a labyrinth of romantic complexity.__
> 
> _A Delicious Predicament_ is the 4-part opening to this story arc which focuses on character development and setting. This chapter begins a steamy conclusion, where Lavellan finally finds her sexual release -- but not in the way that was expected!

Lavellan stood with her mouth agape, momentarily paralysed with an abundance of unexpected choices. A wealth of candles had been collected from Sylaise-knows-where and planted throughout her room like little forests of flickering lights. The sultry glow created an intimate atmosphere that softened even the dark corners of the chamber into a haze. The elf couldn’t decide if she wanted to bathe, eat, or just collapse on the poster bed and bask in the warm stillness. An urgent rumble from her stomach made a quick decision, and she hastily threw her haversack onto the sofa and hurried over to the buffet.

Someone had moved her side table closer to the fireplace and laden it with platters of olives, savoury tarts, berries, grapes, pickled vegetables, and delicate cured meats. There was a variety of cheeses, fragrant brown bread, crusty white bread, and the long, crunchy bread sticks covered in seeds that she preferred for snacks. Another standing tray balanced a precarious display of candied fruits and nuts surrounding a decanter of wine. She plucked at the grapes, popping them in her mouth while shaking out of her leather jacket. _By the Creators,_ she swore, kicking off her boots while nibbling on bread slathered with honeycomb, _Ugh, how did they stand the smell in the war room? A month in the field and I am overdue for a proper bath!_ She hesitated at the unsightly blue stains marbling her cheese selection but groaned in delight as its rich flavour mixed with the sweet aftertaste of the summer berries which followed. Trying to ignore the pungent quality of her clothes, she slowly disrobed while alternating hands as she munched happily through the board.

Finally, the laces on her bodice loosened and she pulled the undergarment free with an audible sigh of relief. Her torso delightfully bare, she stretched her arms high and behind her head, lifting her ribcage and delighting in the release of pressure from her breasts. Dalish clothing, mostly constructed with halla wool and leather, was flexible and supportive when well-fitted without ever feeling restrictive. The wild, wandering elves prided comfort and utility over fashions, and skillful tailoring over costly materials. She had never needed to wear a bodice before; the humans who designed her clothes and armour never considered this fact, and nothing seemed to fit well without one. Lavellan had no idea how the court ladies could function in their intricate corsets and petticoats; through sheer masochism, she suspected.

Chewing on a crunchy bread stick, she splashed the dark wine clumsily into her pewter goblet, spilling crimson droplets over the bleached white table linen. Wincing in chagrin, she hoped the servants would not curse her out for the extra scrubbing. Not as though they would do it within earshot, of course; no matter how hard she tried to appear amiable, even the elven servants were humbled in the presence of the Herald. Lavellan brought the goblet to her nose, sniffing experimentally. She didn’t care for the dry Fereldan wines, though Josephine was constantly trying to “educate” her palate with an array of vintages that made her head swim. She suspected that it was Leliana who orchestrated her meal tonight, though, as Josie was fond of complicated meals. The plates tonight was of relatively simple fare, though of excellent quality and delightfully flavourful – and nothing required silverware. The spymaster seemed perceptive when it came to Lavellan’s victual tastes; and while not the most appropriate pairing with antipasti and charcuterie, the wine was heady with spices and most likely chosen for its’ sedative effects.

Her stomach temporarily appeased, the elf took a long moment to inspect the rest of the room. The quarters were, as always, immaculate; someone had tidied while she was gone, replacing the kindling, and polishing the wooden furniture with protective oils. Her balcony doors were opened to the crisp air, but the fireplace was blazing in defiance to the snow outside. She knew it was decadent to have the hearth blasting out so much heat while insisting that her windows remain open, but she could not stand the odours of a closed room, and the smell of the fresh air mixed with woodsmoke made her nostalgic for her clan. The large, iron-banded bathtub was a new addition – she didn’t even want to consider how it was carried all the way up the tower. It was positioned perfectly to provide an unobstructed view of the clear night sky through the balcony entrance, but not so far away from the fireplace as to be chilly. Lavellan then noticed a smaller washbasin set aside the tub, where she could scrub off the dirt and sweat before climbing into the clear, steaming water laced with embrium petals. A long board spanned across the width of the bathtub, and she realized there was no need for her to choose between soaking and eating. As she quickly filled a clean plate, a note from Leliana was found, tucked behind a shining apple.

_L ~_

_Enjoy a well-deserved night in! Do not worry about rising early tomorrow, I have ensured that you will have some time off before you must depart for Crestwood._

_I hope you like the Tavene vintage – it is one of my personal favourites._

_~ N_ (followed by little brushstroke bird dancing next to the scrolled initial)

Lavellan smiled and turned the parchment over to glance at the back. Another scribble waited there.

_P.S. I left a present for you with the towels._

Curious, Lavellan grabbed her laden plate and goblet and deposited them on the bathing tray. She looked over to find a chair stacked with bathing sheets: a small, delicately wrapped package sat on top. The elf grinned in excitement as she pulled the paper tissue away, revealing a milky bar of Orlesian soap.

How the spymaster knew that Lavellan coveted the herbal Orlesian soaps, she had no idea. Perhaps Dorian had given her away – he had teased her relentlessly after catching her fondling them in the Val Royeaux perfumery. While a (ridiculously generous) spending stipend was yet another perk of being the Inquisitor, Lavellan felt uncomfortable spending money on luxury items when her scouts slept on the ground and ate hard tack. The money was far better spent splurging on weapons and armour – which she did, with gleeful abandon. Besides, such delicate soap would only melt in her packs, and she rarely had time to think about ordering personal items while directing supply lines and troupes from Skyhold.

She lifted the bar to her face, pressing it lightly against her lips and breathing in deeply. The satin texture of the dry soap was so entrancing, Lavellan almost did not want to get it wet. Almost. The young elf woman hopped out of her small clothes, kicking the pants to the side with her foot, vowing to clean up after herself later.

_* * * * * *_

Lavellan groaned again as she settled into the bathwater, her hair freshly rinsed and hanging over the edge of the tub towards the fire. She had scrubbed thoroughly and exfoliated until her skin tingled before stepping into the large bath, taking time to detangle the long tresses of her auburn hair. She normally wore it up, piled at the back of her head, except for the braid that ran from her left temple in the custom of her Dalish clan. She hadn’t realized how long it had grown and was more than a bit disgusted by the clumps of loose strands she pulled out with a wide-toothed bone comb. After settling her hair so it might dry quickly, she filled her belly again, this time more slowly as she savored the victuals. Her hunger finally sated, she scooted down into the hot water and slowly pulled the bar of Orlesian soap across her freckled arms and legs.

She was entranced by the shimmering quality of the lather under the candlelight and loved the slippery-smooth texture it gave to her skin. She could feel even the calluses on her feet and hands soften up. The scent of the soothing herbs mixed with the fragrance of the bathwater, lulling her into a luxurious stupor. As she leaned back, fully relaxed for the first time in what felt like a year, she gratefully took a long swig of the spiced wine and let her eyes close.

The gentle sound of her own breathing and the balmy splashes as she shifted in the water broke through the silence. Her mind unfocused, she could now pick out the wafting sounds from Skyhold’s courtyard below. It was a quiet murmur of late dinners and companionable drinks, punctuated by the crack and groan of a large wagon moving ponderously across the yard. And now, the lilting sound of Maryden singing for the nightly crowd that patronized The Herald’s Rest. She wondered sleepily if The Iron Bull was there again, reclined casually in the back of the tavern, flirting with the servant girls. She placed her bar of soap on the bathing tray, careful not to drop it in the water, and finished lathering her neck and chest.

Comfortably reposed, Lavellan’s hands began to wander across her breasts, slippery with soap, gliding like silk across her nipples. The gesture reminded her body of how long it had been since she’d had any kind of sensual stimulation. The languid touch of her fingers lubricated with the soapy water created a deep, aching need that stiffened her nipples into peaks of heightened sensitivity.

She sighed out loud as she traced circles around the pinched flesh, teasing herself by dragging her fingertips up the slope of her breast and sliding them down again to stimulate her areola. Each sensual brush felt electric, like sparks radiating through her flesh. Eyes, closed, head tipped back over the brim of the bathtub, Lavellan cleared her mind of anything else but the feeling of arousal building in her core. She recalled again her attraction to Bull’s musky odour... the heat radiating from his body as he propped her against him ... the desire to open her mouth and taste his skin.

“Oh, Bull ….” She whispered, breathing in deep. The thought of his scent was so erotic, she could practically taste it in the back of her throat right now.

“Yeah, Boss,” a deep reply rumbled unexpectedly behind her, “I’m here now.”

Lavellan startled, splashing soapy water across the floor. She couldn’t believe he had stuck into her room without disturbing her, without making a single sound! She must have been half asleep and totally distracted with her teasing when he let himself in. She craned her head around and felt, rather than heard, him kneeling down close behind her. His breath, thick with promise, caressed against her moist cheek.

“Don’t worry, Boss – and don’t get up. Just close your eyes and relax … there’s only the two of us here, and I _told_ you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

Coarse fingers touched the tip of her chin and traced the line of her jaw like a spark of fire. His unique, peppery scent filled her senses and Lavellan moaned, her lips parting. The profile of his face was just out of sight behind her, so she couldn't read his expression. Lavellan closed her eyes again, but more out of embarrassment than out of obedience. How could he be so brazen that he’d invite himself into her rooms, confident in her reception? Was she really _so_ obvious?

“Maybe,” he chuckled behind her, like a purr (How does his voice purr like that?). “Maybe The Bull’s got you figured, and maybe I know _exactly_ what you need. But I don’t like guessing, so we’ll need to spell out what it is you want, right?”

The Qunari had settled his large hands on her bare shoulders, kneading the sore muscles there. As if making a point, those hands slid down to the water and cupped both of her breasts, engulfing them in the palm of his grip and pulling her nipples upwards between his thumb and forefinger.

Lavellan cried out, involuntarily arching her back to press up into his hands as he massaged her, flicking his fingers simultaneously across the swollen and flushed tips.

He leaned forward, gently rubbing the dark stubble on his scarred jaw against the side of her face. She could feel the weight of his horn brushing against the crown of her head as he dipped his head down, and she wished desperately that he would use his mouth on her. As if reading her mind, Bull smiled with satisfaction.

“Damn, you are _super_ sensitive. Hrmmmm. That’s just fucking gorgeous. I could watch you squirm like this all night.”

Pinching her nipples again, he pulled up, lifting the weight of her breast and eliciting a mewling cry from the young elf once again.

“Now that is a lovely sound. That tells me you wanna say something. Nah, keep those eyes closed. I want you to just concentrate on what your feeling, what I’m doing to you, what you _want_ me to do to you.

“Well? Is there something you want to say? If you want something, you gotta ask for it.”

 _Oh sweet gods,_ she thought to herself, her head swimming, _He’s going to make me beg for it?_

The pressure on her nipples eased, and Bull’s fingers released the sensitive nubs to cup the curve of her breasts again. He waited for her response with a delicious pause, his movements strangely soft in contrast to the rough abrasion of his dry skin. Lavellan was completely pliable under his touch – but she wanted more, _needed_ more. The hungry nerves sparking between her thighs demanded more.

“I … I want you,” she managed to gasp out, biting back her embarrassment. Her face flushed brightly under the blue lines of her vallaslin, and Bull chuckled again.

“I bet you do. I wonder,” he breathed, leaning in close to her ear. “Think I can make you come with just the sound of my voice?”

Lavellan bit her lower lip, thinking that yes, he just might. Just the sound of him talking sent shivers down her spine.

“C’mon, you deserve something better than that. What, _exactly_ , do you want?” he asked slyly.

“I want you … I want you inside of me.” The elf gasped out.

Bull laughed. She felt his hand leave her right breast, sliding up her chest to grip her chin. He pulled up, gently tipping her head backwards over the lip of the bathtub towards him. She felt his mouth firmly covered her own, the tip of his hot tongue fervently parting her lips, dipping in quickly before retreating. She could taste the cloying Chasined liquor he had been drinking earlier, and the sudden thought of him fucking her mouth with his tongue intruded with such force that her body twitched in spiked arousal.

But, for now, Bull pulled away again, freeing his grip on her jaw and letting her head fall forward into a more natural position.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aneth ara!  
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy the descriptive nature of the story so far -- Chapter 4 brings a conclusion of this part, but not to Lavellan's story! Please continue to read as I will post more tales of the elf Inquisitor as _Torn Asunder _continues. <3__  
> Dareth shiral, and enjoy the journey!


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